


Oh, sing, choirs of angels

by kate_the_reader



Series: The season [12]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: 31 Days of Ineffables Advent Calendar Challenge 2019 (Good Omens), Ficlet, M/M, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-12
Updated: 2019-12-12
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:28:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21772216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kate_the_reader/pseuds/kate_the_reader
Summary: Christmas in their cottage brings another revelation
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: The season [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1564690
Comments: 6
Kudos: 19





	Oh, sing, choirs of angels

They haven’t been in the countryside long, just a few months. They’re content on their own, always have been. As the winter has drawn in, they have retreated into the sitting room, lined with bookshelves, and the bedroom. On bright days they walk the lanes, crunching the ice on puddles underfoot, Aziraphale squinting against the dazzle of a million frost crystals, the tip of his nose pinked by the chill, one gloved hand tucked under Crowley’s elbow. When they get home, there are cups of tea, or cocoa, to wrap their icy hands round, steam tickling their noses as they smile over the rims of the mugs, content in their newfound peace. 

As Christmas neared, Aziraphale got out his box of lights (and the one coloured string Crowley had added) and they looped them round the room. The lights play across Aziraphale’s face when the other lamps are dark and Crowley is grateful, as he is every day, that this is their life now. “Thank you,” he whispers, in case She might be listening, “Thank you.”

There is a fireplace, but Crowley isn't ready, yet, for fire, and Aziraphale has never mentioned it.* 

When it is late, and sometimes when it is early, they go to bed, and Crowley whispers to Aziraphale, who he knows is listening: “Thank you.”

“My love?”

“For our life, here. Thank you.”

Then Aziraphale holds Crowley even closer.

They are happy, alone.

It is Christmas Eve. The house is dark, lit only by the twinkling lights. Outside, the sound of footsteps crunching up the drive. 

“Who …?” They don’t know anyone here. 

And then: “ _O come, all ye faithful …”_

“Carollers!” 

“What, angel?” Another new-to-him Christmas tradition?

“It must be people from the village, carolling. Visiting each house to sing carols. Crowley, have you never—”

“Course not. You know that.”

_“O come, let us adore Him …”_

Aziraphale gets up and goes to the front door. Crowley hangs back as he opens it.

_“O come, all ye faithful to Bethlehem …”_

And then another voice joins in: 

_“Oh, sing, choirs of angels_

_Sing in exultation_

_Oh, come, oh come ye to Bethlehem_

_Come and behold Him_

_Born the King of Angels”_

Aziraphale’s voice is pure and rich. Crowley is glad he is standing in the shadows, so his tears remain unseen.

_Prompt: carolling_

**Author's Note:**

> Most of the other stories in this series so far have been set during Aziraphale and Crowley’s first Christmas together, in London. This one comes later in their lives, after they leave the city and move into their cottage. It references Flames* (day 5).


End file.
